Discovering Strength
by MBradford
Summary: Young Frodo Baggins deals with Lotho's bullying in his own way.


Discovering Strength  
  
Author:MBradford  
  
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written purely for the joy of storytelling. No financial gain is involved. These are not my people or my places. They are the creation of JRR Tolkien. Immeasurable thanks to the Tolkien Estate and family for not closing the door in our faces when we ask if they can come out and play.  
  
Summary: Young Frodo Baggins deals with Lotho's bullying in his own way.  
  
Rating: PG for mild violence.  
  
Author's notes: First, the technical stuff. This is my first story posted here, and I'm having some issues with punctuation and italics. The italics aren't working for me, so anything that's an unspoken thought will appear between two of these ~.  
  
This story takes place when Frodo is around 10 years of age. Since his parents passed away when he was 12, they are still alive and well at the time of this story. Frodo has been away from home for a week, visiting Bilbo in Hobbiton. Bilbo has just brought Frodo home, and is planning to go back to Bag End the following morning. It is just after supper, and although he is reluctant to do so, Frodo has a story to tell..  
  
~*~  
  
"Prim, that was a meal well worth the journey - several times over, I believe," Bilbo proclaimed, settling back in his chair with a look of complete satisfaction on his face. It was a fair distance from Hobbiton to that area of Buckland. "I'm not sure which draws me here more strongly.the joy of seeing all of you again, or the knowledge that a supper like that will be waiting for me!" He lit his pipe and looked up at Primula as she cleared the table.  
  
"Bilbo, you certainly know how to give a compliment. I hope Drogo is taking note?" She said with a sideways glance at her husband. Drogo laughed good- naturedly as they ganged up on him. "I have nothing to say, as I would undoubtedly get myself in deeper regardless," he wisely replied.  
  
Primula turned from the table with a small stack of dishes in her hands. She bent down slightly and handed them to her son, who stood waiting behind her. "Will you take these to the kitchen for me?" she asked the dark-haired lad. Frodo smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Frodo."  
  
Frodo was the only child of Drogo and Primula Baggins, and at the age of 10 he was still a little smaller than most of the other children his age. He was a little thinner and more sharp-featured as well, traits which his parents always said came from the Took side of the family. The lad tended to be polite, soft-spoken and rather sensitive, but keenly intelligent and infused with energy like most children his age. As for his being smaller than the other lads, that worried his parents very little. It was the way of some children to grow all at once, like a tree from a magic seed. One day, they would turn around and find Frodo looking them directly in the eyes, rather than turning his gaze up at them.  
  
In the dining room, the conversation of the adults continued. "Did you and Frodo have a nice visit, Bilbo?" Drogo asked, taking a relaxed puff on his pipe.  
  
"We certainly did," Bilbo enthused, as Frodo emerged from the kitchen. "We even spent a day at the Free Fair in Michel Delving. It was a shame you missed the fun," he said, his eyes twinkling.  
  
"Now, Bilbo, you know crowds just aren't for me," Drogo replied. "And there is plenty here to keep responsible adults busy this time of year. It was just as well to let Frodo enjoy it, since he has the advantage of youth and spare time."  
  
Frodo took a chair between Bilbo and his father. As he did so, the leg of his breeches rode up slightly, revealing several large, dark bruises against his pale skin. The bruises caught Drogo's eye, and a concerned expression crossed his face.  
  
"What's this? Frodo, let me see that leg, if you please."  
  
~Oh, no!~ Frodo groaned inwardly. He had hoped the bruises would escape his father's notice and heal quietly. The last thing he needed was his father getting involved in his problems. That would only make matters worse, he was sure.  
  
Drogo's tone told Frodo there was no escape. He did as he was told, and exposed his left shin to his father's scrutiny. There were several large, dark bruises on Frodo's leg, starting just above the ankle and extending to an inch or so below the knee. Anger began to cloud Drogo's face as he looked at the damage. ~You don't get bruises like that by falling down or running into something~, he thought. If that was all that had happened, there should only have been one.  
  
Frodo looked at his toes and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. He looked up at his father uncertainly, clearly hiding something.  
  
"Bilbo? What happened to Frodo while he was in Hobbiton?" Drogo asked. He realized that Bilbo couldn't watch the lad every hour of every day, and he assigned no blame to the older hobbit for Frodo's condition. He did feel, however, that Bilbo knew what had happened. "I think someone needs to speak up about this."  
  
Bilbo cleared his throat and smiled at Frodo. Why must the lad look at him so? He sighed. Bilbo had promised not to tell about the incident at the Free Fair, but he hadn't promised not to encourage Frodo to relate the story himself if the need arose.  
  
"Drogo, I think we should let Frodo tell you what happened. After all, it's his tale, and an interesting one at that, I must say."  
  
Frodo looked up at Bilbo with a horrified expression. There was no way out. He'd have to explain the whole thing, from start to finish. He felt so humiliated! And his father would be so angry! There would be no stopping Drogo from getting involved and making a great fuss, and -  
  
"Frodo, why don't you and your father take your tea together in the parlor? Go on, lad." Bilbo encouraged, giving Frodo a gentle shove toward the parlor. Frodo nodded morosely, and followed Drogo into the other room.  
  
"Now what are you up to, Bilbo Baggins?" Primula asked him, placing a brimming cup of tea before him on the table. She seated herself across from him and began stirring her own cup as she looked at him curiously.  
  
"Prim, the lad had a run-in with that no-good Sackville-Baggins whelp, Lotho at the Free Fair. Now, before you work yourself into a state over it, I must advise you that while Frodo may look the worse for the experience, he handled it remarkably well for a lad his age."  
  
~*~  
  
Drogo seated himself in front of the fire and motioned to Frodo to join him. He hoped to get the boy to open up about whatever was going on. If someone had hurt Frodo, he was going to get to the bottom of it and make sure it didn't happen again! His ire rose at very thought of anyone laying a hand on his son.  
  
"Frodo, you must tell me how you got those bruises. I want the whole story, the truth, now."  
  
"Da, it's nothing serious, I promise," Frodo began, haltingly. ~How do I tell him?~ "I ran into Lotho-"  
  
"Lotho! That boy needs a good thrashing! And if he's been thrashing on you, he will have it, mark my words!" Drogo replied, his voice sharp. "I will be seeing Otho and Lobelia about this in short order."  
  
"Da, please. I don't think that will be necessary. It's taken care of, really," Frodo said as seriously as a 10 year old possibly could.  
  
"Taken care of?" Drogo looked at his son suspiciously. "Perhaps Bilbo is right. It sounds like there's more to this story than meets the eye. Out with it, lad. I promise I will not interrupt." He sat back and looked at Frodo steadily, waiting for the boy to begin his tale.  
  
Frodo took a deep breath and stared at the coals glowing on the hearth. "Two days ago, Bilbo and I spent the afternoon in Michel Delving at the Free Fair."  
  
~*~  
  
Carts pulled by teams of ponies rattled past them noisily, as the buzz of conversations and bursts of laughter drifted around them in all directions. Bilbo and Frodo walked together through the maze of tents and tables assembled on the commons, taking in the sights of the Fair. There was plenty of food, drink and music. The adults and tweens were dancing, flirting and laughing together while the younger lads and lasses played games and pranks, raiding food from the various tables as they ran by.  
  
~The rest of the Shire should be empty as eggshells right now~, Bilbo thought. Indeed, it seemed almost everyone had assembled in Michel Delving for the day. He could see the Bolgers and Boffins laughing together at a long table in the shade, mugs of ale in hand. They waved and Bilbo waved back. Bilbo was on fairly friendly terms with both families, although he was sure they considered him as eccentric as did the rest of the families in the area of Hobbiton. Bilbo had accepted the fact that most of his fellow hobbits considered him a bit odd, and viewed his tales of adventure beyond the Shire with some disdain and even a touch of doubt. After all, it was quite unusual for a hobbit to go very far from the Shire for any reason, and more unusual still were the outlandish tales Bilbo had brought back with him from his journey.  
  
Bilbo was startled from his thoughts as Saradoc Brandybuck strode up thumped his back good-naturedly. "Bilbo, how have you been! It's been much too long since we have seen you at Brandy Hall." He looked down at Frodo with a grin on his face. "And Frodo, you look well. Are you having a good time, lad?"  
  
"Yes, thank you," Frodo said, smiling at his older cousin. Saradoc was the eldest son of Primula's Brother, Rorimac Brandybuck, the Master of Buckland. It had been while since Bilbo had seen his Brandybuck relatives, and he was eager to speak with them.  
  
"Where is Rory?" Bilbo asked, glancing around. "I'd like to speak with him if he's about. Just catch up on news and events at Brandy Hall and such." Saradoc pointed at another long table tucked away beneath the limbs of a large tree a short distance away. Frodo grasped Bilbo's hand and looked up, waiting as the older hobbit turned to acknowledge him.  
  
"Yes, Frodo?"  
  
"Is it all right if I look around for a while? I promise not to get lost or get into trouble, Uncle Bilbo," Frodo said earnestly. If the adults were going to convene and talk for a few hours, he would much rather be exploring and looking for something more interesting to do. There really wasn't much mischief a lad his age could get into with all the adults around, and Frodo wasn't much for such shenanigans as it was. ~At least not yet. give him a few years~, thought Bilbo with a wry grin.  
  
"Certainly, my boy. I will be with Rory if you should need me," Bilbo replied, ruffling Frodo's curly dark hair affectionately. As a bachelor with no children of his own, Bilbo found it refreshing to be in the presence of a youngster like Frodo from time to time. ~Such a quiet lad, he mused. He has energy about him, but not of a wild, destructive kind~.  
  
Frodo disengaged himself from Bilbo, and with a smile and wave at Saradoc, he wandered away into the crowd to see what else was going on. Maybe some of the younger children from Buckland or Tuckborough were about somewhere.  
  
He passed a platform where a group of hobbits were playing a lively jig on their instruments, much to the delight of a group who danced in time with the music, some singing along as they did. Frodo smiled as he saw Bell and Hamfast Gamgee dancing together and enjoying themselves. The Gamgees lived near Bilbo in Bagshot Row, Hobbiton, and were such nice folk. Hamfast, affectionately called 'the Gaffer' by close friends, had worked for Bilbo for many years as his gardener, and there wasn't a better hobbit in the Shire for the job, Frodo was certain.  
  
As Frodo stepped beyond the next few tables and booths, he found himself in an area slightly apart from most of the festivities. From there, he could see most of the activity of the Fair without being caught up in the crowd, which suited him for the moment. He leaned against a large tree and continued to watch the crowd milling about and the dancers energetically stepping to the music.  
  
A voice behind him broke through his thoughts abruptly. "Hey, there's the little rat-thing now, Ted." A few years older than Frodo and a good bit larger as a consequence, Lotho Sackville-Baggins was - unfortunately, Frodo thought - a member of the family. ~What is he again? My third cousin?~ Frodo mused. He had encountered the older boy on several occasions at Brandy Hall, and Lotho had taken it upon himself to taunt Frodo mercilessly about his size and more delicate appearance.  
  
"Hey, Ted," Lotho sneered to the lad who stood beside him, "Frodo's a runt and a crybaby. If you don't believe me, watch. You just touch him and he'll cry!"  
  
~Not again~, Frodo thought, his calm state of mind rapidly evaporating. Frodo turned, unable to keep the fear from his eyes as he confronted the inevitable. Lotho stood before him, and next to the older boy stood Ted Sandyman. Ted was one of Lotho's cronies, and just about as worthless and warped, as far as Frodo was concerned. ~What am I going to do?~ He thought, a touch of panic rising in him. ~There are two of them~.  
  
Frodo backed up a few steps, forgetting about the tree. As he backed into it, he knew he was as good as trapped. Lotho was advancing toward him now, a nasty look in his eyes, as usual.  
  
"You see, Ted," Lotho began, "this little rat here is my cousin, if you believe that." He snorted derisively in Frodo's direction. "It's embarrassing."  
  
Frodo started to edge around the tree to make a break for it, but the older boy anticipated his move, and with a lightning-fast lunge, Lotho grabbed Frodo by the arm and shoved him up against the tree. Frodo was truly frightened now, and fought to keep from showing it. His wide blue eyes betrayed him as always, and Lotho let out a scathing laugh.  
  
"He's a weakling, and just a crybaby, as I said. Why I'll bet he's going to cry right now, aren't you Ratling?" Lotho shook Frodo for effect, just hard enough to establish who was in charge. "Come on, Frodo. Show Ted here how it's done. Show us some tears, crybaby!"  
  
Through his terror, Frodo felt something else surging toward the surface. His face started to redden and he felt his jaw setting as his eyes locked with Lotho's. Tears? No. Not this time. As frightened as he was in that moment, Frodo resolved not to give Lotho the satisfaction of seeing him break down. He stared straight ahead. ~A lot you know, Lotho. You'll look a proper fool~, Frodo thought.  
  
The look on Lotho's face transformed into a mask of rage. How dare this undersized whelp defy him in front of his friend! "You'll cry, rat. I'll make you," the larger boy hissed in Frodo's ear. Lotho drew back slightly, and aimed a vicious kick at Frodo's left shin. It was all Frodo could do not scream or flinch away from his attacker. Gritting his teeth, the smaller boy stood his ground and stared not at Lotho, but past him this time, as if he wasn't there at all.  
  
Lotho's face twisted in fury as he kicked Frodo a second time. Frodo's seemingly calm defiance of him was maddening. This had never happened before, and now, here was his scrawny, timid little cousin standing his ground and just taking it. Another blow fell, and another. Frodo didn't know how long he could continue his performance. He was terrified and angry at the same time, and yes - he wanted to cry. But he mustn't! If he could just hold back!  
  
Frodo closed his eyes and tried to gather his remaining resolve. At that moment, he heard another voice. An older, gruffer voice, one that sounded like it belonged to someone who would not take kindly to any sass from any of them.  
  
"You there! Just what do you think you're doing, boy?" Frodo opened his eyes slowly, and saw - was that - Farmer Maggot? Frodo had never met the old farmer in person, but had seen him from a distance once or twice. He had heard stories about the older hobbit before, from his young Buckland relatives. Old Maggot had a large farm on the border of Buckland, and some of the lads had told him stories of how the farmer had dealt with youngsters he caught pilfering his crops. He would set his dogs on them, and -  
  
"It's a right sorry state of affairs when a lad your size takes to thrashing on a smaller 'un for naught but sport," the grizzled farmer stated, his eyes boring coldly into Lotho's surprised face. Maggot grabbed Lotho by the ear. "And you, young Sandyman." Farmer Maggot turned a withering gaze in Ted's direction, "I reckon your Da may be findin' a bit more work for you to be doin' around the mill in short order, seein' how you've plainly got more time on your hands than is healthy for a lad your age."  
  
Frodo realized he must look foolish, but he couldn't help gaping in shock at the scene before him. Farmer Maggot, chastising his tormentors, and Lotho writhing in pain as the old hobbit held him by the ear, of all things! At that moment, he was too much in shock to even feel the pain in his leg where Lotho had kicked him.  
  
"Boy, you look a bit pale," the farmer said, finally addressing Frodo. "You all right?"  
  
Frodo blinked and gave himself a mental shake when he heard Maggot address him. "Yes, Sir. I think so," he said, a little unsteadily.  
  
"Good," the farmer replied. Then the old hobbit did something completely unexpected. He pulled Lotho over to stand in front of Frodo once more. "I reckon you owe this one here one or two, don't you boy?" Maggot asked him. Frodo stared. Was farmer Maggot suggesting that he give Lotho a taste of his own medicine?  
  
"I, uh - I," Frodo stammered. He swallowed hard and tried again. "Sir?"  
  
"Go ahead, lad. Give him your best. He's deserves it, fair enough." Maggot still had Lotho by the ear and showed no sign of letting go.  
  
Frodo considered. So what if he did give Lotho a swift kick? Maggot was right when he said the orcish brute deserved it. But if Frodo let him have it, what would happen as soon as the farmer was out of sight and hearing? There was no possibility that Lotho would leave it at that. Frodo would be fair game. On the other hand, if he refused, he ran the risk of seeming as weak as Lotho said he was. That aside, he also had to live with what he thought of himself. His mother's words rang in his ears as if she were standing directly behind him - 'Two wrongs do not make a right, Frodo.' and another favorite, 'Just because someone else behaves like a troll does not mean that you have to.'  
  
In the years to come, Frodo would remember this day from time to time, and he would never be able to work out how so many thoughts could flash through his mind in such a short time. Although to Frodo the moment seemed to last forever, it was really only the space of several heartbeats before young hobbit spoke.  
  
"Thank you, Sir, but I don't care to. It would resolve nothing," Frodo said, steadily. "It would only make me guilty of doing the same wrong."  
  
Three faces stared at him rather blankly. Farmer Maggot looked as surprised as if he'd just seen a dozen of his prized mushrooms grow legs and walk to Bywater. Lotho looked like he was going to be sick, and Ted looked thoroughly confused by what he had just heard.  
  
Farmer Maggot fixed Frodo with a stern look and merely nodded. Frodo nodded back at him with a slight smile, then turned and walked away slowly, back toward the activity of the Fair, back to the tables where he knew Bilbo would be waiting for him.  
  
~*~  
  
- "I'm sorry, Da," Frodo said, staring at the floor. "I guess I am weak. I'm an embarrassment -"  
  
"Oh, Frodo," Drogo breathed softly. He turned and took the boy in his arms and hugged him tightly. "No, lad. You are far from weak. You've more strength in your little finger than every other hobbit in the Shire combined."  
  
Frodo wasn't sure he'd heard his father's words correctly. "You mean, you're not disappointed? You're not troubled because I didn't fight back?"  
  
Drogo looked into the little hobbit's eyes and spoke in a voice heavy with emotion. "Disappointed? Frodo, I'm not disappointed. I'm just so very proud of you." He hugged his son again, as if he would never let him go. At that moment, relieved beyond measure and surrounded by love and concern, Frodo finally gave in to the tears he had banished.  
  
Father and son remained together in the parlor for a while longer, as Drogo explained his reaction to Frodo's story. "I am proud of you because you did not allow yourself to fall to Lotho's level. You made a fool of Lotho without raising hand or voice to him. There are more ways than one to vanquish your foes. Well met, Frodo, my lad."  
  
In the kitchen, Prim stared into her empty teacup. Bilbo placed his hand over hers and spoke softly. "Extraordinary, don't you think? There's not a finer lad in the Shire, Prim."  
  
"No, Bilbo," she answered quietly. "There is not." 


End file.
